


questions and answers

by Ro29



Series: "Be the Rarepair content you want to see in the world" [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: CC-1010 | Fox Needs A Hug, Clone Trooper Inhibitor Chips (Star Wars), Coruscant Guard Feels, Echo and Fives are investigation buddies, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Mild Angst, The Citadel Doesn't Happen, mentioned loss of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro29/pseuds/Ro29
Summary: “You aren’t supposed to be in here.”Echo freezes, the drawled voice sending a spike of fear through him, he slips the data chip into his hand, pockets it and hopes he didn’t give it away.
Relationships: CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: "Be the Rarepair content you want to see in the world" [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022017
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149
Collections: Commander Fox, Echo&Fives





	questions and answers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SonicFairyspell13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicFairyspell13/gifts).



> Everyone is an Enabler and I'm the fool who loves these two far too much XD

“You aren’t supposed to be in here.”

Echo freezes, the drawled voice sending a spike of fear through him, he slips the data chip into his hand, pockets it and hopes he didn’t give it away.

He’d thought he’d been through enough with making sure no one would find him. Clearly not though, since when he turns around he’s faced with Commander Fox in full kit and left with no reason he can give as to _why_ he’s looking through confidential files and data.

He suppresses a wince, is glad for his bucket, and swallows past the knot in his throat, the data he’s found feeling like it is burning a hole through his side.

It is not that he doesn’t trust the Commander but, well, everyone knows that the Coruscant Guard works closely with the Senate, with the _Chancellor_ , and with everything that Echo has found so far—

It is not that he doesn’t trust the Corrie Guard, it’s that he doesn’t think they would have a _choice_ in whether they sold him out or not.

He stands at attention, gives a nod and a clipped, “Commander.”

Commander Fox’s head tilts a little, and the silence stretches in a way Echo knows means the Commander is waiting for an answer.

Echo swallows, closes his eyes and steels himself.

He doesn’t have an excuse and the Captain doesn’t know he’s here and Fives is already covering for him.

Echo is alone here and if his slicing has led him to the right conclusion, then there is the chance that Commander Fox isn’t even in control right now.

His head throbs, and the data chip feels like a brand against his armour.

“Trooper,” Commander Fox says, steps forward and lets the door close behind him, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Sir” he says, wants to hit himself with how obviously untrue it is.

The Commander crosses his arms, settles into a parade rest and Echo huffs, tries to find something to say.

His eyes catch on the Commanders armour, on the red drying on plastoid.

The Guard colours are red, but the red is too dark, dried and flaking and Echo doubts that the Commander has repainted his armour recently, not with how he looks like he just got back from a mission.

He breathes, tries to push down his panic. Tries to find something to say, some excuse.

“Your paint is looking a tad flaky,” he says instead, because Echo has never been able to keep his mouth shut, always been just a tad too reckless.

He doesn’t hit himself, but he _wants_ to, he can recite the rules and regs, can repeat data he’s heard word for word but he points out the _obviously dried blood_ on the Commander’s armour?

The same Commander who is alone in the room with him, who has frozen in place, posture tense and rigid and Echo thinks _danger, danger, danger_.

The Commander looks down at his armour, moves, almost mechanically, and brushes fingers against the blood.

Echo holds his breath, watches the way Fox wavers and stumbles and snaps right back to standing upright, drops his hand down as if it burns.

Echo watches and he thinks that, if Fox’s bucket was off, he’d be able to see the tension in his jaw, the confusion and anger that shows in the way the Commander holds himself.

“What are you doing here, Trooper?” Fox asks again, voice tight and fists clenched.

And Echo thinks, _Oh_.

“Echo,” he says, introduces himself, because the Commander has already seen Echo’s armour, “and you don’t know how that got there,” he says, because he’s never known how to keep his thoughts to himself, “do you?”

The Commander doesn’t answer, and that is enough of a confirmation for Echo.

Echo reaches up, takes his bucket off, knows that if Fives were here he would be telling him not to do something stupid, to use that confusion as a distraction so he can _get out_ but—

The Corrie Guard has gone quieter and quieter as the war goes on, shinies who are assigned there don’t talk to their batchmates as often anymore. Those already there always seem to be tired and run ragged.

The whispers among the troops, of the way the Corrie Civilian’s treat them when they’re on leave are things the Guard put up with every day.

And Echo has always been a touch soft, sees the way Fox is standing — distant and stiff, like he is stranded alone at sea — and knows he can help, even just a little bit.

He can not help as much as he wants to, because there’s too much riding on this, too much that can go wrong and the Corrie Guard is too close to the Senate, under the control of the Chancellor and Echo knows, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he’s right.

Which means it would be dangerous to tell Fox too much.

But—

He takes his bucket off, tucks it under his arm, watches Fox cautiously, tilts his head in question.

Fox hesitates, fingers twitching by his sides. Sighs and reaches up to his bucket, takes it off and tucks it under his arm stiffly, like he isn’t used to carrying it instead of wearing it.

Fox, with his bucket off and staring at Echo with dark circles under his eyes and clenched jaw, looks like he is about five seconds from falling over.

There’s stubble on his face, looking less like it’s a purposeful decision and more like Fox just hasn’t had the time, or maybe the presence of mind, to shave. His hair is past regulation length and the exhaustion is palpable in the set of his shoulder, the way he looks at Echo.

“You know what’s going on, don’t you.” Fox says, and it’s not a question.

Echo blinks, doesn’t shift, doesn’t do anything to give himself away.

“I have a theory,” he says. And it isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the full truth either.

Because he _does_ have a theory, one that makes his mouth run dry and his heart pound and the pit in his stomach grow. Makes him run through the actions of the Chancellor and the longnecks and the Senate and the Seps over and over again until he thinks he could drive himself insane. Has talked it through with Fives enough, in private and hidden away where no one could hear them, that the two of them think they have the barebones of everything laid out.

He knows Fox is talking about more than just blood on armour with no explanation.

Knows that what Fox wants to know is that the Chancellor or someone high up in the Senate has been giving away info to the Seps, that Fives and Echo have found records for missions that aren’t on any official dossier. That one of the shinies had been complaining about headaches no one knew the cause of, that a level five scan had found a chip implanted in his head that had made Kix go quiet and Rex go tense.

Echo can’t say any of that though, because Fox’s eyes are tight with pain, and he doesn’t know where he’s been or why there is blood on his armour.

Fox watches Echo, and whatever he sees play out across his face makes him grimace.

“Fair enough,” he says, dry and tired.

Echo bites his lip, steps forward into Fox’s space slowly, wraps a hand around his arm, and he doesn’t know when, but at some point the Commander had become Fox.

Fox is tense at first, watches Echo warily, before he shivers and relaxes all at once, tips into _keldabe_.

“Soon.” Echo promises and Fox laughs, a little bitter, a little tired.

“I’ll hold you to that, Echo” Fox says, steps back “Now get out of here, before I see something.”

Echo nods, “Yes, Sir.”

He walks out, data chip clutched in his hand and heart in his throat.

_Soon_ , he promises himself, thinks of tired eyes again, _soon_.

**Author's Note:**

> It's very important to me that you all know that when they finally take Palps down, Fox absolutely gets to punch him.
> 
> Hi!! just a quick reminder that while i love prompts if i ask for them, I'd rather not have prompts thrown to me in the comments unless I specifically ask for them! Throwing them my way on Tumblr (when they're open) is a much better way to do it! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> If you want to find me other places I have a [writing tumblr](https://rose-blooms-red.tumblr.com) and a [fandom tumblr](https://themessofthecentury.tumblr.com)
> 
> Please come yell at me about Star Wars and DC!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Flower Language](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818411) by [Kaito_Dragneel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaito_Dragneel/pseuds/Kaito_Dragneel), [lastbattlecry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastbattlecry/pseuds/lastbattlecry)




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